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They could not speak; and so I left them both,
Enter King Richard.
And here he comes:—All health, my sovereign lord!
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done.
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead?
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
Tyr. The chaplain of the tower hath buried them; But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell, till then.
Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
Cote. My lord,—
K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so
bluntly? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth.
K. Rick. Ely with Richmond troubles me more
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
The Same. Before the Palace.
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow.
A dire induction am I witness to,
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York.
Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,— Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost,
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
[Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!
Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ..
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:—
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that kilPd my Edward; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; And the beholders of this tragick play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, And send them thither: But at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly convey'd from hence :— Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
Q. EKz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would come,